


Facepaint

by kaalee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Ficlet, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-03
Updated: 2008-02-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaalee/pseuds/kaalee
Summary: [Seamus/Dean]  Dean paints everyone's face for a Quidditch match at Hogwarts and finds himself a little more flustered by Seamus than he might have imagined...





	Facepaint

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Dedicated to the glorious [](http://fitzette.livejournal.com/profile)[**fitzette**](http://fitzette.livejournal.com/) for rocking the world ♥ and written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/flist_a_fest/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/flist_a_fest/)**flist_a_fest**.

**Facepaint** **  
Seamus/Dean, rated pg13**

  
  
  
It had been Seamus's idea - of course - to paint their faces one Quidditch match during third year. Seamus figured that the way to show the most support was to make it completely obvious so none of the other fans could possibly doubt who they were for.   
  
He'd seen a picture of Dean's mates at a West Ham football game - back when they were winning a few years ago - and had asked what happened to their faces. Dean explained that it was a fun, sort of mad way of showing support. Seamus mentioned it would be a good idea to try it out one day, but Dean hadn't thought Seamus would actually get around to remembering it. Like most of Seamus's ideas, it had a lot of momentum in the beginning, but lost steam after about four minutes of effort.  
  
Apparently not this one, though.  
  
Harry had left earlier that morning looking both excited and slightly green. The rest of the four of them were left in their dorm room, biding their time and avoiding homework by tossing an old, dried cardamom pod around.   
  
When Seamus brought up the idea back up, Dean was reluctant; no one did that at Hogwarts. It really wasn't even a public school thing - something more commonly done at professional matches. But by then Neville and Ron had been won over by the idea and were chiming in, too. Neville louder than Ron, even. Neville said that it would be all the rage and it might finally get Dean some recognition for his art outside of the Gryffindor third years.   
  
How could Dean say no to that? Especially when Seamus had already started pulling the paints out from under his bed.   
  
The paints were stubborn and stiff from the cold air, so Dean had really needed to blend and work up the paints a bit to get them to work. After painting Ron's and Neville's faces, (not bad, thank you very much, considering he was working with obstinate paints), he'd finally given up on the brushes after painting a line along Seamus's left cheekbone that looked all wrong.   
  
"Aaargh," he'd snarled, or a sound to that effect, and finally just smeared a couple of fingers through the paint to warm it up.  
  
The first touch was odd.   
  
Seamus breathed in very slowly, through his nose, and stared at him.   
  
It was rather odd to be standing in front of another bloke and looking so intently at him. Neville had laughed and just talked about being able to see the pores on Dean's skin more obviously than the pores in his own and was that because he was black or maybe just a genetic thing?   
  
Ron had looked over at Neville struggling to put on his trousers and made helpful comments like: 'You show them who's boss!' and 'One leg at a time, mate!' So it wasn't too clear whether Ron had even realized what was going on as Dean painted his face.   
  
But Seamus just watched him.   
  
Dean swallowed harshly, feeling suddenly naked and awkward, but he couldn't look away.   
  
Seamus's lips parted when Dean brushed his cheekbone the first time and Dean almost got paint in his eye when he saw the inside of Seamus's lips: moist, reddened, full.   
  
Seamus followed Dean's paint-smeared fingers with his eyes as they mixed the colours, then followed them as they moved up toward his skin. Blinking only once, he met Dean's eyes and held them for a small eternity. Dean had never really contemplated the colour of Seamus's eyes or the fringe of dark lashes surrounding them, but he had a sudden desire to match the colour right there on his palette. After a flash of exactly six unsuitable thoughts, Dean finally caught himself, moving his thumb to spread scarlet across the hollow of Seamus's cheek as though he hadn't just been unashamedly staring at him. His hand didn't shake as he moved, but only just barely.  
  
"Warm, that," Seamus said. Still staring.  
  
"Byproduct of body heat, mate," Dean answered immediately, though his heart thudded so painfully in his chest he thought it might come loose.   
  
Ron dropped something at that moment and Seamus turned his head slightly, catching Dean's knuckle with his lower lip. The sense of it ricocheted downward, filling his veins with liquid fire and searing his knuckle burning hot. Dean reckoned if there hadn't been other people in the room, he might have done something very embarrassing. _Christ._ Dean had never been a religious person, but he almost started speaking in tongues after that.  
  
After Ron picked up the offending loud objects (his trainers), Dean turned back to Seamus. He moved closer, trying to finish as quickly as he could. Seamus was agreeably still, his eyes flickering from Dean's paints to his hands, to his face again, but Dean tried to ignore it.  
  
"Dean," Seamus said quietly when Dean was nearly done with the gold and, god fucking Merlin on a platter, his name should never sound that sexy in the light of day.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Seamus was still looking at him, and Dean reckoned that if no one ever looked at him that intently again, he'd die an old man, lonely and surrounded by cats. He didn't move his fingertips from the warm expanse of Seamus's skin. Didn't even speak, really.  
  
"Do you, ehm…" Seamus reached up and gently pulled Dean's hand away with his own. "Do you want me-"  
  
Dean's heart was back to thudding wildly again.  
  
"Get a move on, then!" Ron called from across the room. "We want to get there early."  
  
Seamus's hand dropped away from Dean's and he stepped back, a small flush colouring the skin still showing. He took a deep breath, then pressed his lips together. "Why don't yeh just do your own face then, aye?"  
  
Dean watched Seamus, then turned and walked to the mirror, racing to cover his own face with paint as quickly as he could.  
  
He saw Seamus's outline pass behind him, and looked in spite of himself, his heart still thudding double - no, triple - time. Seamus pulled his cloak around him, fastened it, then walked over to stand behind Dean, watching his eyes in the mirror. His eyes swept Dean's face, then returned to hold Dean's gaze with a hint of mischief.  
  
"Missed a spot, there."  
  
"I haven't got an artist to do mine, mate," Dean said, "Just a bunch of colour-blind incompetents."  
  
"Takes one to know one."  
  
"Wanker."  
  
"Dippus."  
  
"Fat boy."  
  
"Glorified prick."  
  
"In your dreams, Finnigan."  
  
"All the wet ones, yeah."  
  
"Ooh, so are we ready then?" Neville asked, his face appearing in the mirror to their right.  
  
"When Dean gets 'is hand outta me trousers, yeah," Seamus said with a grin, turning and tossing the cardamom pod over his head.  
  
Dean caught it with his left hand and pocketed it. He grinned at Ron and Neville as they followed Seamus out of the room. "Irish lad's just sore that he can't paint for naught."  
  


.:.:.

  
  
  
  
After the match (which Harry won handily), all of Gryffindor ended up in the common room, toasting Quidditch and Firebolts and the glorious surname Potter. Fred and George Weasley had supplied a ridiculous amount of butterbeer, the reimbursement for which they were currently passing a transfigured pair of Ron's y-fronts. Ron had no idea, and no one was that keen to tell him.  
  
For some reason, every sip Dean took tasted of paint, so he went up to scrub it off his face with Seamus following close behind.  
  
"Your feckin' paint tastes like arse warmed over," he complained.  
  
"Well, you'd know, mate," Dean grinned, turning on the water and grabbing a flannel to wash his face. The water was colder than he would have normally liked, but it felt good against his skin.  
  
For several minutes, the only sounds were the creaking pipes and splashing. Dean couldn't really see anything with the water running into his eyes. After he'd dried his face, he walked to the door, gripping the wooden handle, then turning back.  
  
His heart caught when he realised that Seamus was behind him. Right there.  
  
"Shay?" he whispered.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Don't... _what_?"  
  
Seamus pushed at the handle behind them, effectively shutting the door against the small inch or so that Dean had opened it. Dean swallowed and looked at Seamus. The skin under his eyes was scrubbed red; it made his eyes look more vivid than normal. There was still a smudge of scarlet next to Seamus's nose, but Dean had no desire to take the piss about it.  
  
They were both breathing shallowly; Dean could see Seamus's chest rising in short bursts. Neither of them moved.  
  
Seamus licked his lips, then glanced down at Dean's mouth and back up to hold his gaze.  
  
Dean said, "Shay-" at the same time Seamus said, "Dean," but neither of them laughed and Dean effectively stopped breathing. He was sick with a mix of fear and anticipation and all he wanted was to stop the furious pounding in his head.  
  
"Are you... ?" he whispered. And Seamus said, "Yeah." He said, "yeah, Dean, I-" and his eyes borrowed holes right through Dean's skin the way they were looking at him.  
  
He said, "yeah," one more time and then his lips were on Dean's, low at first, but then just the right height, so Seamus must have gone up on his toes. His mouth was soft - really soft - and wet enough to slide Dean's questions into the air unanswered.  
  
Dean shut his eyes and let Seamus lick his bottom lip, then suck it right into his mouth. Seamus pressed Dean against the door, and in that strange bump of his shoulder against wood, it finally occurred to Dean to kiss back.   
  
After that, it got really good.  
  
Dean moved his mouth back against Seamus's, opening and closing like he was talking, but it was more, so much more than talking. More because he saw Seamus's jaw moving, saw the little click that his jaw made sometimes, and this time Dean could feel it. He kissed Seamus back hungrily, kissing wet and hard and slow, not even stopping when Seamus touched his tongue just inside his lip. He just moaned and trembled and touched back with his own tongue.   
  
He let Seamus take the lead, let him press them both against the door and he curled his hands around Seamus's waist. He heard Seamus gasp and suddenly every noise around them was heightened. He could hear Seamus's every breath, could hear his own blood pounding, could hear every creak of the castle and every beat of the music below.  
  
Dean lost all track of time. He just slid his lips over the wet-slick-hot of Seamus's sweet mouth and let everything inside him melt away.  
  
Seamus touched his jaw, rubbing it gently with his thumb until a lack of air pulled them apart.  
  
"Christ, god, but that was brilliant," Seamus breathed.  
  
Dean could only nod and pull Seamus back against him, kissing lazily this time, their lips still hot and lush from before. Just as Dean reached up to touch Seamus's face, loud footsteps bounded up the stairs, pushing at the door the moment after they sprung apart, laughing with surprise and looking guiltily at each other from across the room.  
  
Seamus made a quick excuse and left just when Neville came in. He looked around curiously, like he'd forgot there was a bathroom there, and shook his head with a grin.  
  
"Sorry," Neville said, tripping over his feet as he walked back out of the loo, "forgot that I meant to go the other way."  
  
After a long moment, Dean walked slowly over to the sink, holding onto the cool porcelain with both hands and staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were wide and overbright, his cheeks darkly flushed and almost pulsing with the blood still rushing through them. He laughed roughly, shook his head, then laughed again.  
  
They'd-  
  
He and Seamus.  
  
They'd just-  
  
His first.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
Dean's mind didn't stop racing, so much so that he almost saw thoughts and disbelief and too many words (like brilliant and soft and far too bloody short) scrolling behind his eyes. A small smudge of scarlet below his cheekbone caught his eye and Dean reached up to rub it off, pausing just before his hand touched the paint.  
  
Seamus had been as haphazard in scrubbing the paint off his own face as Dean had been meticulous, so several bits of scarlet and gold had still decorated his face before...  
  
Before he'd pushed Dean against the door and snogged him, hard.  
  
Dean watched himself in the mirror for another moment. He took two slow, deep breaths, his chest moving with each one. The little scarlet mark was there, it nearly matched the deep red lipstain that he'd watched his older cousins put on.  
  
A wave of music from the common room vibrated under his feet and Dean smiled again, pushing himself away from the sink and turning back toward the door. As he headed back to the party, to the rest of Gryffindor, to Seamus, he caught one last glimpse of the paint smudge on his cheek.  
  
It looked really good there.  
  


.:.:.

  
  
~thank you so much for reading! ♥♥♥  
  
  
**NOTES:** Some of the visuals in this story were inspired by this [drawing](http://linnpuzzle.livejournal.com/147862.html?style=mine) by [](http://linnpuzzle.livejournal.com/profile)[**linnpuzzle**](http://linnpuzzle.livejournal.com/). I've wanted to write a story about it for ages. For some reason, when [](http://fitzette.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fitzette.livejournal.com/)**fitzette** prompted me, right away I saw Seamus and Dean with facepaint on and thus, this little fic was born.


End file.
